


Ajar.

by hennethgalad



Series: Hador Lórindol. [11]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Love and duty., Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-22
Updated: 2018-09-22
Packaged: 2019-07-15 12:57:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16063622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hennethgalad/pseuds/hennethgalad
Summary: Even on the night of his marriage to Gildis, Hador turns to Fingolfin.(for the sitcom challenge on SWG 'Will they or won’t they ?')





	Ajar.

        

 

 

 

   Fingolfin laid down the feather and rose to his feet. Hador stood near the door, pale and tense, his body upright, his shoulders hunched with anxiety; but his eyes pleaded with Fingolfin, his once blythe features clouded with need.  
   "Hador, my dear friend, is all well with you ? Please, do you sit, and I shall pour the wine."  
Hador swallowed and nodded, and sat down on an embroidered silver couch, resting his elbows on his knees, his strong hands gripping each other as though he bore ill tidings, and feared the wrath of his lord.  
   Fingolfin handed a goblet to Hador, who drank it off, but still could not speak. Fingolfin sat quietly on the opposite couch and waited. The sun was growing hot, Fingolfin watched the dust specks move aimlessly through the columns of light, feeling the wine soothe his spirit, as the colour returned to Hador’s face. Finally Hador sat back and sighed, but still he would say nothing.

   Fingolfin suddenly recalled a time in the House of Finwë. He had been very young indeed, five or six, a small child; he had hidden away at times to escape the eyes of the adults who clustered around him like birds to fallen fruit. He had been playing quietly on the gallery of his father’s study when the door had opened and Finwë led in Fëanor and gestured angrily to the seat before his desk. Fingolfin had gripped the railings with both hands and risen to his feet, but his cry of welcome for his wonderful brother was choked in his throat by the furious expression on the fair face. Fëanor sat with a scowl and folded his arms. Fingolfin shrank back, not wishing to be seen, but neither of the adults even glanced upwards, engrossed in their dispute.

   Finwë strode up and down for a time, then stalked over to his desk and sat facing his recalcitrant son, his own arms folded angrily, as though in imitation.  
   "Speak, Fëanor. Explain your conduct, if you can."  
But Fëanor had merely stared at father in silence, and the air had thickened between them, and Fingolfin had watched, breathless, at every moment expecting Fëanor to beg forgiveness, and speak in the eloquent way he had, that made everyone who heard believe whatever he said, listening to the sound of his voice and forgetting the words he had uttered. But the time passed, and Fingolfin grew bored, thirsty, and hungry, and finally cramped, until his legs stabbed with pain and he felt that he must move or scream. But he could no more interrupt the council of his father than he could walk into the fire, and he silently worked his legs around until the pain eased, though tears spilled forth from his eyes.  
   But his father and his brother did not move, they might have been made of marble. Fingolfin almost giggled, they seemed to have melted away; for a moment he felt he was alone in the room, and had to force himself not to laugh aloud. If flies came in, he thought, they would land on them, and not be brushed away...

   He seemed to have been there forever, he seemed to be stuck there forever, he would fade away and turn into a tiny weak maia or something, and haunt the gallery until the end of the world. He could think of nothing, of no one, who would dare to intrude, no one who could step between father and son and break their frozen stare. Fingolfin had long forgotten how it had begun, he had never known why father was angry with Fëanor this time, and he did not think he would be told. He almost sang, but stopped himself in time.  
   Their fury was strange to him; life was so good, father and mother were so wise and fair and kind, Tirion was full of excitement and laughter and singing, and the Valar were there to look after everyone. Yet still, Fëanor seemed to be always angry and shouting, or away on his adventures. Fingolfin sighed, he had asked many times to be taken on adventures with his brother, but Fëanor would pat him on the head and say "Not now."

   The long silence made the sounds of the House louder than ever. The walls were thick, but the tall windows stood wide, and the Light shone full into the book-lined study, carrying the sounds of hammers and horses, laughter and song. The hour of the midday meal passed, and Fingolfin looked down in horror as his stomach rumbled; but they did not hear him. He sighed quietly, wondering if there would ever be an end to the waiting, if the two adults would ever move again, if anything would ever move again. He yawned and squirmed into a stretch, as quiet as he could be, and wished that he dared take down a book and read. But the books on the gallery were all dull and for adults, there was nothing here for him. He frowned down at Fëanor, willing him to apologize and get it over, but Fëanor did not move so much as an eyelash. Fingolfin sighed silently, his impatience turning to anger at his brother, and even, far in the back of his mind, at his father. He could imagine nothing to stop them sitting there forever, staring angrily at each other, waiting for the other to give in, and speak.

   At last his mother had come in. She was not the mother of Fëanor though, which puzzled Fingolfin. They had explained kindly that Fëanor's mother was gone forever, but Fingolfin did not understand why she would not come back, nor why she did not miss her son so much that she hurried back at once. He would have missed his mother terribly if she had ever gone away. But he had listened carefully and understood at least that everyone was especially kind to Fëanor, who missed his mother all the time. Fingolfin sighed, and wondered if Fëanor was most angry of all with his mother, for leaving him behind when she went away.

   "My lord Finwë, and dear Fëanor, I apologize for the intrusion, but we cannot find Fingolfin, have either of you seen him ?"  
As though awakened from a magic spell, they had risen to greet her, and Fëanor had bowed and murmured an apology, and slipped away. Finwë frowned, but Indis took his arm "Come, my love, our son is lost, let us seek him out together."  
   As Fingolfin watched them leave he had almost run after them, shouting eagerly, but the same spell had worked on him. He knew that he could never speak of what he had seen, even to mother, lest the wrath of Finwë and of Fëanor be turned upon him. He rose to his feet and looked down on the empty room, where only the sparkling dust moved. It was like the stage after a play, when all the crowd have left, the actors have gone, and everything seemed to echo with the feelings of the story. Fingolfin wanted to clap, but shook his head and ran silently along the gallery to the stairs by the desk of his father, and hurried past the seat his brother had filled, as though Fëanor were still there, and would see him, and know.

 

   Fingolfin emptied his glass and felt the emptiness of his stomach; he rose to his feet and crossed to the door, and sent for food. But he poured more wine, and silently refilled the goblet on the table, and passed it to Hador, who nodded his thanks. Fingolfin sat down, and smiled at Hador. "There is nothing that you could say that would trouble or anger me, for I too love you. Speak, then, and ease your mind."  
   Hador drew in his breath, lifting himself as though to speak, then sagging, and leaning forwards, covering his face with his hands. After another long silence he finally spoke. "I called your name."  
   Fingolfin frowned and then sucked in his breath, feeling a rainbow of emotions, remembering the many times his lover had called his name, the hoarse tone of his voice in the grip of desire, and the heat of him. He felt his body flare alive, his calm detachment fell away from the core of his being as ash from the stirred fire. He almost rose to his feet, but recalled himself in time, and sighed, and sank back in his seat, and sipped at his wine. The marriage of Hador and Gildis seemed broken, on the first night, but Hador seemed broken along with it.  
  
   Fingolfin frowned again, remembering his own unfortunate marriage; he himself had known nothing of the flesh, there had been no other before Anairë. But when they had finally been alone and she had disrobed before him, he had stepped back, and put his hands up. She had looked at him with narrow eyes, cold and furious, her cheeks burning red with hurt pride.  
   He had done his best, but it had all been ruined in the first moment, and they had never grown close, no matter how polite they were to each other. He had striven in all other ways to impress her, to charm her, he had brought her endless gifts, but she had cared nothing for his triumphs nor his tokens, hating him for his false promise of love. He could not even explain himself without worsening her mood, and those few he dared confide in had urged him never to speak of the matter to Anairë. He knew that she understood, but she could not forgive him, and he could not blame her, nor was it any help to assure her that he had not known himself, for then she would despise him for a fool.

  
   But Hador interrupted his thoughts "I did not know that I could not... Her body was wrong, Fingolfin ! She was so small, so thin, such little bones, and such..." He grimaced and looked away. Fingolfin passed a hand over his face, feeling the wine blurring his thought, feeling the past within him like rocks beneath the water, shifting the course of his thought.        

   But Hador was gazing at him, pleading for help.  
   "It was the same for me, when I married." Fingolfin said finally. Hador rose angrily to his feet. "Why did you make me do this thing, if you knew how it would hurt her ! She threw me out of her bed ! I..." he swallowed and sat down, and in a more familiar tone, yet filled with wondering "I almost came here, on my wedding night ! I turned to you, as I do in everything, but I could not come. What am I to do, my lord ? Her family will seek my death for such an insult !"

  
   But out of the turmoil in his heart, one thing was clear to Fingolfin; there could be no obstacle between himself and Hador within his own house. Hador’s words of Dor-lomin were forgotten, for here was his lover, kept from his bed by the thought of mere gossip. It was intolerable. He rose to his feet and beckoned to Hador, who looked up, half-hopefully, half concerned. But Fingolfin led him to a featureless part of the white wall, and stood before it, breathing to calm himself.  
   

   "Blossom." he said clearly, and passed his hands over the wall. Hador gasped as the Dwarf door began to appear, the outlines barely visible until the door swung silently open, revealing a dim, empty corridor behind. Fingolfin turned to the astonished Hador and smiled. "Dwarf doors ! Finrod Felagund came with Frélin the Dwarf and some Dwarven crafters, and they built me three; one at each end of the Hall, and this, here in the middle. There is one very near your rooms, come, I shall show you the way."  
   Hador suddenly gripped his arm. "You would send me back there ? To her ? She will kill me ! How would you feel, in her place ?  
   Oh Fingolfin, how could I have been so foolish ? Why did you not warn me ? Did none of you Elves, with all your skills at perceiving the thoughts of others, did none of you see my heart ? How could I not have known ?"  
   "Oh my dearest, you did not know, you knew nothing of married love, how could you know it would not please you ? But we shall speak to Írimë, she will speak to Gildis, we shall arrange matters to save her pride, whether she permit you ever to return to her bed or no.

   But I myself endured a marriage without love, and my wife and I did our duty and provided grandchildren for my parents. Though" he smiled at Hador, and realised that it was the first time he had smiled since the wedding "I did not call the name of another for there was no other. But I knew..."  
   Hador laughed shortly "Duty !" he cried "What of... But no, I cannot speak." he frowned "My lord, I am terribly hungry... I... If it please you, I would see this Dwarven marvel at another time, first I must eat, I can scarce think for hunger."  
   Fingolfin laughed "Oh, I missed you last night ! I have sent for food, sit, you shall not wait long to have your appetite sated !" He turned to the Dwarven door and raised his hands again. "Mead." he said, and the door swung softly closed, and blended into the wall, and vanished.  
   Hador shook his head. "When they told me that my wedding night would be enchanting, it was not of doors that I thought they spoke ! How marvellous are the skills of the Dwarves !"

 

   Hador ran his fingers lightly along the back of the couch as he passed, a familiar gesture that Fingolfin had hardly noticed before, but which now struck him with tender pain. A slight sound escaped him, Hador half-turned, his chin covered in the hair of the Mortal. Fingolfin frowned, then smiled slowly. "In Nargothrond, those few of the House of Bëor who live for a time among the Elves have followed in the path of Bëor and shave the hair from their faces, to more closely resemble the Eldar."  
   Hador looked thoughtfully at him, and touched the hair on his chin. Neither of them moved or spoke for a time; Fingolfin struggled with his own thoughts, wishing to reach for the thought of his beloved, but too proud to intrude. Hador grinned suddenly. "You know that I would choose to be an Elf, if ever it were possible. But I will be content to merely resemble your ageless beauty, for so long as my own youth lasts. But I do not have the skill to do this thing without risking cutting off my own nose, or some such folly..."  
   Fingolfin laughed "Sit then, I have some skills of my own, and I have seen it done. But you must sit very still !"

 

  
   Hador turned his head to and fro, stroking his smooth cheeks, frowning at his reflection as Fingolfin dried his hands. "I think that my chin has grown."  
   Fingolfin laughed "I think that all of you has grown ! I have never seen a person as tall as you. When will you stop ?"  
   Hador lowered his head and smiled, then looked at Fingolfin under his lashes "All too soon, alas, and you will recoil in dismay as I shrivel under the weight of the years."  
   Fingolfin gaped as though he had been struck, and opened his mouth to speak, but merely swallowed; there was nothing to say. To his great relief, a soft knock at the door announced the arrival of their breakfast, and Hador sighed with relief as the low table was spread with delicacies left from the wedding feast. But as they sat facing each other across the laden table, Fingolfin realised with a kind of horror that it was still the same night for him, though an age seemed to have passed, and all the world had changed around him while he waited. The thought of the ages to come, when the fleeting life of Hador had passed, and he was left alone to stare at the walls until they crumbled to dust around him, crushed the breath from his body. He stood carefully and turned to where the miruvor stood, and poured himself a measure and threw it back. Remembering his manners finally, he offered the flagon to Hador, who looked eagerly at it, and tried to smile up at Fingolfin with his mouth full, then nodded, gulping down the savoury pie. Fingolfin laughed, sweeping all thought of the future from his mind, content to dwell in the moment, relishing every tilt of the beautiful head, and the light on the golden face.

   Hador sipped the miruvor, then emptied his goblet, and gave a shuddering sigh. "By the hunter, I had great need of that !"  
   "There is miruvor in your rooms, I know that."  
   "Oh ! Oh, well, I did not think to look... But it was not miruvor that brought me here." His lips moved slightly in the faintest of smiles, swiftly smoothed away. But the heart of Fingolfin had been set alight, hope bloomed into joy brightly as sunrise, and he smiled openly at Hador, eager for the meal to be over. But Hador sighed.  
   "My rooms... My wife is there..." He bowed his head, his shoulders hunched, and seemed to grow smaller as he sat back, his celebrated appetite forgotten. They were silent again, all having been said. Fingolfin longed to comfort him, to take him in his arms and stroke the golden hair, and kiss away the frown, but he could not move. He knew that Hador was torn between duty to his wife and duty to his heart, and any push could unbalance him, and set him fleeing. He must be left to see his own way forwards, and Fingolfin had the patience to await his choice. But when he recalled the anguish of the long dark night, he began to question his own strength, and to wonder how he would endure if Hador rose to his feet and bowed politely, and left him alone again.

   At length Hador sighed and sat upright, his large eyes looking directly into those of Fingolfin, who felt as clear as glass, with all his desire and pain and wounded pride laid bare. But Hador was smiling, a strange smile, that Fingolfin had never seen before. He was puzzled for a moment, the expression was familiar, but not on the face of Hador... He snorted softly, with disbelief, and growing pride; Hador was nervous ! He was truly unsure of himself, for the first time since they had met. It was like the first grey hair, or the first line on a face that cannot be smoothed away. The spell that Hador had cast upon him, and upon them all, became in that moment a thing with limits, that would end; sooner for most, and at last, even for himself. The long ages that lay empty before him could be endured, surely; others endured loss and lived on, his own Turgon had survived the loss of Elenwë, surely he himself...  
   "Do you really love me ?" Hador said, and swallowed. Fingolfin gazed at him in astonishment.  
   "Do you truly doubt it ?"  
   "I... No. No... But I... well... today I doubt everything, especially myself. But if you... I mean..."  
   Fingolfin stood, his heart seemed larger than his body, larger than his room, larger than his house. He sat beside Hador, threw his arms around him and held him close, sinking his hand into the soft gold hair, cradling the bone of his head, and feeling the tears fill his eyes. Hador put his arms around his lover and they clung to each other, and felt their taut muscles ease, as the familiar touch reassured them, and the comfort of home warmed and soothed their wounded hearts.

  
   After a time Fingolfin leaned back, and laid Hador's head upon his shoulder, and stroked his hair softly.  
   "I will always love you. Even if you grow a beard down to your knees, and have white hair like your father, and become enfeebled by age. Nothing can change that."  
   "But what should I do ?"  
   "I cannot say. I... I am not fit to judge, for I see only my love. But Írimë will know, she will see clearly, where I see only you. Only the moment. Only now."  
Hador lifted his head, Fingolfin turned to meet his eyes and as smoothly as the joining of waters, their lips met, and Fingolfin closed his eyes and melted into the embrace of love.

   But there was no time. The door opened even as the knock sounded, and they moved hastily apart, but Írimë was there, and had seen them.  
   "Oh no..." she said, and sighed "I feared that this would be so, but I did not think..."  
She took the seat that Fingolfin had left, and leaned over the table, and selected a rich pastry, and ate it in silence, while they struggled to compose themselves. Fingolfin frowned, he had never felt so disadvantaged before her, his struggles had always been with Fëanor; he understood then more clearly than ever that he took her support for granted, that he had never doubted her love and loyalty. And as he studied her face, and the frown on her fair brow, he understood that neither had she. She had looked to him as to one who was infallible, despite his candour, or perhaps because of it, for he had never concealed his doubts and fears from her, and she knew him as no other did. But Hador was beside him, and Fingolfin could not dispute that it was wrong to have kept him at his side; he should have sent him back to Gildis, and it was this that had shocked Írimë. A small part of his mind knew this, but his heart would have none of it. He struggled to keep his hand still, to stop himself from reaching for Hador, and gripping his hand tightly, and never letting go.

   After a while Írimë turned to Hador. "Why did you marry Gildis ?"  
   Hador sat up straight and cleared his throat "I... I do love her..."  
   Írimë nodded "And that is why you are here ?"  
   "She threw me out !"  
   Írimë sneered. Fingolfin was shocked to see such scorn on the face of Lalwen, all sign of the laughing child had disappeared, and for a moment he saw a fleeting echo of their proud and haughty father, looking down on some childish mess they had made, and uttering words of scorn. "Then you must beg her forgiveness. And you must go now. At once."  
   Still Hador did not move, but Fingolfin did not dare to turn to him, nor to speak himself. He had only endured thus far by banishing all thought of Gildis from his mind. But as though she had thrown open a door, he saw her; alone on her wedding night, the husband she loved cold in her bed, then insulting her, and rightly dismissed. His own hurt pride was as nothing to hers. Írimë spoke truly, Hador must go, and at once. Every moment delayed would add to the weight of her pain and his guilt. Still he could not move.

   Finally Írimë almost shouted "Hador !"  
   Hador leaped to his feet, and bowed swiftly to Írimë, turned a pale, desperate face to Fingolfin, and hurried away.  
   Írimë sighed and sat back on the couch and turned to Fingolfin. "How awful. How... What an awful... Really, I do not know what to say. It...  
   There is no one to blame. She knew what you were to each other, yet still she accepted his hand. He knew what you were to him, yet still he asked for her hand. You gave them all that you could think to give, you behaved perfectly, I cannot fault even you, who are the oldest and wisest of the three of you. But what an awful situation. What will he do ?"  
   Fingolfin could not speak. He shrugged and shook his head slowly; his mind was with Hador, passing along the corridor to the hall of mosaics, under the high dome, past the silver pillars, still hung with wedding garlands, and up the stairs to where Gildis waited, with pale cheeks, red eyes and lips set firmly against him.

   Írimë picked at the delicacies, and sipped wine, scarcely glancing at Fingolfin, leaving him time to compose himself. But after the storms of the night, he found himself drained of all thought, purpose or will, and was content to sit in silence, still as the table, half watching her eat, half picturing Hador at the door of his new wife’s chamber, charming his way in.  
   Suddenly he laughed, but Írimë looked at him in astonishment.  
   "Oh Írimë, he will charm her, as he charms everyone, in the end. Look at us two ! Admit it, you have forgotten your precious rocks. I have forgotten my family, my people, everything ! Everyone here has forgotten the very presence of the Enemy, so caught up have we been in his marriage. Why, Orodreth took one look at him and begged me not to bring him to Nargothrond !"  
   Írimë snorted, but it was a laughing sound, and Fingolfin felt the air between them ease. After all, he had merely taken breakfast with Hador, who had soon returned to bed...

 

   As swiftly as the closing of curtains, the darkness of exhaustion took him. He slumped back on the couch, his eyelids heavy in his head. Írimë looked thoughtfully at him and sighed.  
   "Poor Fingolfin. I know what this marriage has cost you. But he would not have forgiven you for keeping him to yourself. He needs her. He needs the children she will bear, he needs to return to his people, and raise his family, and his house, and watch his father grow old by the fireside.  
   And he will be gone before the habit of him sets in your mind; but your life here will continue, and your family and friends will be here, and we shall comfort you when you weep, and make you laugh when you are melancholy, and keep you busy with our stories and adventures. And one day we shall sit here together, eating the scraps from another wedding, and you will say "Oh ! Do you remember that Mortal, Hador, who was married here long ago ?" and we shall smile fondly, for he is dear to us."

   But Fingolfin felt still the warmth of his lover’s arms, and the heat of his kiss, and he thought of the Dwarven doors, and hoped fervently that Hador would remember the words, and the way, and hasten back to his side, to staunch the open wound in his heart, while yet he could.

 

 

 


End file.
